


Just the right angle

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: How to find love at Just the Right Angle, John is BAMF even when injured, M/M, The South Side Bomber, john is brilliant, sherlock is snarky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 14:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15390336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Their tracking down the South Side Bomber. John is injured. The South Side Bomber is intrigued. Sherlock is Sherlock. Who will save the day??





	Just the right angle

Here they are again. Though this time, Sherlock is on top, John beneath. Protecting John from the falling debris, Sherlock’s strong arms and legs encompassed John as he lay on the ground, only partial aware of his surroundings. 

“John. John, are you with me?” 

Showing little signs of comprehension. John blinks his eyes trying to focus. 

“Nothing for it then.” Sherlock rises up and takes hold of John’s arms. Hauling him up onto his feet, then quickly grasping his limp friend, he hefts him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Adjusting for the added weight he quick steps away from this hazardous place.

John is deceptively heavier than one would surmise. All muscle, his beloved flatmate has the heft of a dead horse. 

“Sherl...” John’s muffled voice stops Sherlock in his tracks.

Quickly, Sherlock finds an appropriately shadowy corner where, hopefully, they won’t be discovered.

With great care he lowers John to the ground. Cradling his bone-less head and neck. 

“John, I’m right here.” 

John looks about. “Right, we’re in an abandoned factory in the middle of the night. What’s on?” His voice is unsteady much like his gaze.

“Remember, John. We were tracking down London’s South Side bomber?”

“Oh right, did we find the bugger?”

“You found him.” Sherlock smiles at his injured friend. 

“Ta me. I don’t remember doing that Sherlock.” 

“That is likely due to the great wack on the head you took protecting me from said bomber’s last explosion.” Sherlock is on alert. His senses attuned to the sounds, scents and shadows of their surroundings.

“Can we call Lestrade for back up?” John places his hand protectively on Sherlock’s forearm.

“Mobiles won’t work here, dove. We’re too far out.” 

“Brilliant!” John shakes his head to clear it. “What’s your plan then?” John makes as if to stand.

“We do have a rental outside. We just have to get to it before our boy targets us again. I do believe he’s booby trapped this entire building. It’s his den, so to speak.”

Sherlock leans in to help John to his feet; though still shaky, he’s doing better than a few minutes ago.

They are moving at a reduced speed to accommodate John’s less effective gait. Stopping suddenly as a noise comes from their left.

Pulling John down with him, Sherlock crouches low, keeping John in his protective grasp.

“Going somewhere?” A melodic countertenor voice echos through the empty space of the factory. “He must be smart, to figure out who I am? I like smart.” The bomber states melodramatically.

“Yes, he’s quite smart, but you’ve been a tad idiotic. Not a good look on you.” Sherlock snarks back. 

“So you’re the notorious Sherlock Holmes. Famous fellow. Been in the papers and everything.” 

“Yes, and you are the South Side Bomber. So now that the introductions are out of the way. Why don’t you go put the kettle on while we make ourselves comfortable.”

There is a harmonic chuckle that is slightly closer than the last words spoken. 

“He’s rather an ordinary looking bloke, isn’t he?” South Side muses.

“Yes, and he’s my ordinary bloke. So don’t garner any ideas.” Sherlock snaps as he tightens his grip on John.

“Oh, I can see you don’t care to share. Tsk, Tsk. How rude of you, Mr. Holmes.” This vocalization seems even closer.

“Sherlock, what the hell?” John is still a bit muzzy in the brain pan. Groggily attempting to sit further up in Sherlock’s arms. 

Turning his full attention to John, Sherlock doesn’t see South Side dash up, thwacking him on the back of the head. Grabbing John by the back of his coat collar, South Side drags the struggling ex army captain away from his Sherlock. 

Dazed and totally unable to believe that the bomber has taken John. Sherlock gets to hands and knees, he stumbles, walks, runs after his departing heart.

The bomber’s grin is wickedly sharp. John can only see where he’s been. They are not moving fast, just fast enough to put Sherlock too far behind. 

John formulates a plan. Lifting his arms, the drag of the coat and his opposing body weight pull him from the confines of the coat. Rolling to his side, he grabs the closest thing. A piece of discarded brick. Turning he hones in on the disrupted runner who has lost his balance and is wobbling out of control.

Aiming. His affected senses are lost to the focus of a surgeon/marksman. The damaged wreck of man made stone flies true. The South Side Bomber is struck at the temple. Where bone is fragile and blows can be lethal. The bomber goes down. Blood already pooling around his demented head.

Sherlock arrives at John’s side. Out of breath and visibly shaken. 

“John! The bomber?”

“He’s down for the count up ahead.”

Sherlock moves to the bomber, zip tying his arms and legs, returning immediately to John.

“You're bleeding.”

“It’s nothing.”

“I’ll say what is nothing. Come closer.” Commands the captain.

Smiling his devoted smile, Sherlock crouches near, John examines the head wound as the sirens of the NSY fill the night.

“I think you’ll live.” John smirks and pulls his partner in everything, even crime, into a comforting kiss. “I thought there was no mobile signal here?”

Sherlock sits down and draws John into his possessive embrace. John leans in. Tired and finally willing to rest against the consulting lover of John Watson; the only one in the world.

“Told the homeless network if we weren’t out of here in thirty minutes to get word to the Yarders. And don’t worry I told them this is most likely the bombers den, so they will be sending in the bomb squad first for safety.”

“So we are going to be here for the rest of the night and into the morning.”

“Quite.”

John leans out, looking up at Sherlock.

“You know, at just the right angle, you are a rather remarkably stunning organism. Would you like to spend the rest of eternity being adored by me?”

“Possibly that might work out well for both of us.” Sherlock places his forehead on John’s. 

Lestrade finds them, cradled together. Though he hates to disturb them. He does.


End file.
